Another Door Opens

27 - Alcoholics Anonymous

- EDEN -

To say my friends and colleagues found my first date fail amusing would be an understatement, though it was difficult to determine just which part caused the most laughter. The sharing of a thirteen dollar soup, the slurping mess of coconut cream caught in his beard and on every square inch of his side of the table, or the assumed confidence in a follow up date.

They made jokes about it all day at work, which left me in an especially good mood as I headed home to get ready for the second date I'd lined up this week. In hindsight, I should have given myself a break between dates, but I was pretty keen to get over my little, nervous first dates hurdle, so just booked a bunch in around each other.

Tonight's date with Beckett involves grabbing a drink at a small pub near his house apparently.

I met him out the front and he looked cute. He actually looked much the same as in his pictures, was dressed nicely in jeans and a shirt, and held the door open for me when we moved inside, so it started off well at least. I thought it was a little weird that he didn’t even bother to find a table for us before heading to the bar to order drinks, but he insisted on paying for my glass of wine, and carried it plus his own two pints of beer to a table like a seasoned pro.

Now, I’ve definitely had times where I’ve been throwing back multiple drinks at the same time. Granted, those days pretty much ended when I hit my mid-twenties almost a decade ago and I began to feel the after effects of having a few too many the morning after. But it seemed a strange move for a first date.

“Bit thirsty then?” I asked, trying to make a lighthearted joke while at the same time hoping for some kind of explanation as to why he couldn’t wait to finish his first before ordering another.

Beckett chuckled before taking enough large gulps of the yeasty, amber liquid to empty at least half the first glass. I’m sure a younger and dumber version of myself would have witnessed this in past and been impressed, but the only thoughts I have right now are those resembling the whooshing sounds of cyclone winds trying desperately to rip a giant, red flag off a flag pole positioned somewhere inside my stomach. Sounds my mother probably could have benefited from hearing with the majority of her ex-boyfriends after my dad died.

“A bit,” Beckett said, all but polishing off what was remaining of his first beer with another few gulps. “Weekends are for letting loose after all.”

More violent gusts are swirling uncomfortably around my guts. Weekends undoubtedly can be a time to unwind, sure. But the way he’s saying it with such conviction has me convinced that this is actually an every weekend occurrence, not just the occasional one. And that makes me feel uneasy.

“I guess if you have a hectic work week, a couple drinks can’t hurt,” I offered, not entirely faithful to my actual thoughts on the matter, but trying to deflect away from the alcohol conversation by prompting him to speak about his work. I presumed he’d have plenty to say about this particular topic considering he was the primary school teacher, but it became more and more apparent as time ticked on that I would never, ever be letting Luna and Wolfe send their kid to wherever Beckett taught, or would insist they request a change of homegroup if ever they were unfortunate enough to be placed in his class.

There’s no way a person who is this unhinged and lacking in basic self-control should be educating the next generation on how to grow up and be responsible adults. I’m actually surprised he’s able to hold down a full-time job.

After a while I really just needed a break, so faked needing to use the bathroom to get away from him and his constant chatter about booze, bringing my half-drunk glass with me when my instincts wouldn’t relent in insisting I needed to.